The Meadow and the Dream
by kostanda
Summary: Marie, Mary, Maria; brought to the town where her sister waits to give birth, unwittingly entangled in the age old drama that unfolds in the hills and meadow around the village. But will she finally be able to break the old magic?


I've no clue to whom the story of Beauty and Beast belongs to - and this is a hybrid of my own making. There's no particular century that this belongs to; I hope it will seem a little timeless. So, I do not officially own the Beauty and the Beast story, but this retelling is definitely mystical and magical and entirely of my own making. There's no father to save, no roses, and definitely no fancy dresses or dancing. And I had to have my character ask the one question I would have asked, had it been me that had to face the Beast. Come on...if a Beast asked you to marry him, wouldn't your mind eventually end up in the bedroom?

Regardless, get in a slightly supernatural state of mind, and enjoy, I hope!!

There were rumours in the hills, rumours as old as the hills themselves. They had always existed, as if the hills and the rumours were linked, one and the same. Perhaps it had started as a wives tale, a fireside scare to keep the wee ones from getting lost in the thick dark green pines and the never ending black forest. But then again, anyone new to the village could sense the truth in the words, the repetition giving them life and legitimacy.

She was surprised at the immediacy of these rumours; how quickly she heard of them on her second day to market. The villagers buzzed with the words, as if they were necessary to repeat, remind, to warn. As if neglecting the stories for a day would be as if it were forgotten, and the forgetting would be more frightening, for their identity would then be lost as well.

—shire was on the edge of the dark forest, and she came only because her sister was giving birth, and as next of kin since their mother had died, she came to give Jane the comforts of a kept home in the month of her confinement. It was better than staying in the city by the sea, where the mists were heavy and the salt kept her hair soggy. Plus, she missed her sister, and Jane's husband George was a pleasant and honest fellow.

The villagers accepted her arrival immediately, for the postmistress had kept them all abreast of Jane's letters to her and hers that returned. And perhaps it was this response that gave her the words of the rumours so quickly, and they fell like drops of iron water into her ears, so that she heard, but in hearing became deaf to the fear.

It was the day she went to buy rosehips for the tea that Mrs Coddington approached her, full of importance and an obvious secret air, and offered a cuppa at her house with the original idea of handing over a salve for Jane's stretched stomach. Plus, it was a chilly spring day, and hot tea sounded divine.

She stepped into the cozy front kitchen, and Mrs Coddington set down her basket of market wares and wilting greens to put on the tea. There wasn't a moment of silence as she chattered away seamlessly, until the moment they both sat down together and then the loss of words was heavy.

"Marie, there is something you must know." Finally, the story began, and Mrs Coddington told the rumours with relish and the ease of practice.

The hills were old, and within the hills roamed a beast of such untamed wild that all lived in fear of him. He had not been seen for a decade, but surely he existed, for he was seen once leaping from rooftop to rooftop, causing little mischief but neverending curiosity. His roars were heard occasionally by the hunters, and he was dark and large and hairy. He had lived there always, and this town was the closest to his realm that man had ever crept, and thus pride grew into Mrs. Coddington's voice.

She wondered why there was fear, when he did little to harm the village.

Mrs. Coddington shook her head, hurrying to explain, lest the wrong impression be left behind and the fear not take hold.

"You must know, pretty Marie, that once long ago in the time of my grandfather's father, he made a demand of the village, that a young woman go to him. We did not allow it, and the anger of the hills grew and grew so that none could breathe. All were tortured, and water was like salt, and the the sky was dark as night every day. And then one morning, the woman was found dead, in her bed, with her heart torn out. It was him, of course, wrecking revenge. And then the sun returned."

Marie did not think to ask more, and perhaps Mrs. Coddington thought she had done her duty, for the fear of the beast had long been instilled in her from blood family. But Marie had not heard the final part of the story; that young women should never wander into the hills to the northwest alone; this was also felt in the blood of the villagers. The hills to the northwest stretched far and long, with tall green grass filled meadows and lined on both sides with the tall unbending dark forest.

So she went home with her rosehips and hot tea in her belly and rubbed the special salve on Jane's poor stretched skin, and didn't really think of the story again.

That night, the dream came.

And she saw the ramparts of a castle fortress, the buttresses full of twisted gargoyles. It was cold, and rainy and the low heavy clouds scuttled across the sky, black and bleak. She was not afraid, only wondering, and she could feel that the stones were lonely.

She felt the coolness of the rain on her face, and the whip of the wind around her skirts, and they felt heavy and rich, though she did not think to look anywhere but in front of her, where one of the large gargoyles was uncurling, unfurling great black wings and long hard muscles. He was the grey and purple and black of stone, but living, and she did not think he saw her, for as he stretched and grew, she saw the power of his wings, of his breadth of chest, and how his stomach sunk in below his lungs. Long claws sprung from his hands, and suddenly he was fully grown. He towered above her, so it seemed he was ten feet tall, and his whole body was grey and great and muscled. As his long arms stretched above to the heavens, he threw back his head and roared.

With the roar, she jerked awake, but she saw her sister and brother in law also sitting bolt upright in their beds, and she realized that the roar she heard echoing in her dream was also there, in the night, an echo that was bellowed in the wild woods near the village.

But as she saw her sister's face pale in the gloom, and her husband reach under the mattress for the long gun, Marie could not find herself fully frightened, for the vision of the dream, and even the roar itself spoke mostly to her of loneliness.

The next morning, the men called a meeting to discuss the roar, and Marie stayed inside, though the day was sunny and beautiful, to bake the weekly intake of bread for the three of them. Jane was restless and still afraid, though she soothed her, certain the beast did not roam in daylight. Since he was so evil a being, why would he be out in the sun? Nothing that was cruel and twisted enjoyed the beauty of daylight.

When George returned, he was full of news, but nothing that seemed to fix the fear of the villager's blood or to stem the new rumours. The oldest men could not remember a time when the beast's roar could be heard so near the houses, and they wondered if perhaps finally the beast had come to retaliate their ancestral curse. None could come past their fear to decide the best course of action, and finally the day's chores called and they had dispersed.

By midday, she had finished her baking, and took off the long four apron to go searching for truffles. Jane begged her not to go, and George shook his head, but they did not stop her, for they too had begun to believe that the beast would not harm in daylight.

Off into the meadows she went, and smiled at the lads playing leapfrog in the fringe of the long grass, and nodded to the other elderly crones with bent backs, that wandered listlessly in the same guise as to find the seasonal mushrooms, but in truth were there to gossip. She walk aimlessly, and began to forget the truffles, and instead found a private glory in the quiet, how if she strode the right way, she would float across the lime green grasses, over the undulating hills, as if she were chasing the sun.

The wind grew the further she went from the village, but as the meadows were not so hilly as to obstruct much view, the grey and brown houses and their smoke were visible for miles, and the shrinking figures of the townspeople were comforting, for she began to feel the loneliness of the castle in the meadow, and paused for breath.

It was in the pause that everything changed.

Perhaps it was the power that seemed to swirl around her, and how quickly and instantly the sun seemed to darken, and clouds to swirl low and heavy and grey. The wind came in sudden forceful gusts, and she felt it tear at her layer skirts, and pull the pins from her hair. For the briefest of moments, she reveled in it, and the change of colors around her, for the grass became emerald, and then pine green, and the forest trees turned black, so that she knew where the woods begot its name.

But in the next instant, she sensed him, as if she saw him crouched in the edge of the trees, considering, weighing, and then he was there.

Behind her, in the daytime, she knew he was behind her, and she paused and shuddered, because she knew that in a moment the townfolk would see this, and come screaming and shouting and with their long guns.

Firstly she sensed his loneliness, and because she did not immediately turn, she did not shirk or scream. Instead she took a gulp of air, and lowered her eyes. In the changing winds, his scent came to her, and it was not unfamiliar, a smell of wet stone and fur and earth.

And then she spoke softly, but she knew he heard.

"Milord?"

"I am no Lord; you know this."

At the sound of his voice, she felt warmth creep into her, for it was surprisingly mellifluous, though deep and throaty. And this allowed her to turn, and look up and finally see his face in the gloom of the clouds.

Had her dream not warned her, she would have recoiled, but now she only gazed quietly at the long dark brown hair that cascaded down his shoulders and framed his face, and hung heavily as a mane. His shoulders were still as broad as she remembered, and his height taller than a mans, but he was no giant, and he had no gargoyle wings.

"You must know I am a monster. Do you not scream?"

His eyes were black and unreadable, and his face was too foreign for her to gauge, but she was awestruck, and spoke out of turn, and unlike a lady;

"Why should I scream when you have been a vision to me already? Surely you sent the dream?"

He continued to stare at her, but a shot rang out behind them. She had not even heard the townsfolk yell, had not seen them come to her rescue, and he turned away from her, and for the first time she saw him move as an animal, so swiftly and immediately he was gone from her, disappearing first into the trees and then beyond into the deep recesses of the forest. And she saw that the long grey cape that he wore swirled after him, as if he had wings.

She stood, dumb, staring after him, until the fastest of the lads reached her breathless, his gun still half loaded.

"Miss Marie! Miss Marie! Did he hurt you? Was he to steal you away?"

Still silent, she shook her head, and focused. It seemed half the town was coming to her rescue, all manor of weapons in their hands, from pitchforks to the long gun. In their midst was a sobbing Mrs. Coddington, her apron covering her head as she moaned over and over, "I had forgotten! I had forgotten to warn her! It is my fault, I did not warn of the northwest meadows! Oh heavens, oh my heart!"

Parting the group of men like water, she went to the older woman, and put both hands on her shoulders, so that Mrs. Coddington looked up into her serene face.

"It is no fault of yours; I wandered alone, so unseemly for a young woman. Please do not cry for me. As you can see, as you can all see, I am unharmed."

Without her word, they all began to surge forward, propelling each other back to the town, away from the open meadow, and the sun still refused to shine. Mrs. Coddington's sobs had reduced to hiccups, but mumblings and superstition among the men had begun.

"You see, the sun still does not return. Has he hexed it? Will our crops now wither?"

"He will be wanting her, to be sure. We must stand firm."

"Suppose he wrecks hell upon the village now? Is this the beginning of the curse again?"

"It is her fault; by wandering into the meadow for the first time in an era, she has awoken him; she has brought this upon us!"

"Hush, boy, that is fool talk; you heard the roar last night. He is anxious."

Suddenly she turned, and halted them; they were on the edge of the town, but none drifted back to their respective hearths.

"He is not anxious. He is lonely."

Her declaration was met impassively, and with disbelief.

"He is a monster. We all saw him. We are amazed at your bravery, but it is enough show. You are not from here; you cannot understand."

With rejection, she was taken home, and in a jumbled fashion the villagers told Jane of the escapade, while she went to begin the supper. George sat in the corner at the table and stared at her from the gloom.

When finally the last of the gossipers had departed, she put the chipped plates on the table, and helped Jane to sit up in bed to eat. Still George was quiet, and did not touch the hot soup.

She folded her hands in her lap, and listened to Jane's quiet slurps, and they were both interrupted by the hard hit of George's fists on the table.

"Damn you, girl, will you bring doom to this house?"

Jane's bowl slipped and sloshed broth onto the covers. She went to wipe up, and did not look at her brother-in-law as she slowly answered.

"I do not believe he will harm you."

"And so? I cannot stand idly by either as he rapes my wife's sister!"

And so she saw the heart of the problem; George feared his own death in a sure struggle to save her virtue, a virtue she questioned in this fairy tale, for she knew her loins had stirred in the dream, and had been grossly awake today in the meadow. While she had no prospects, George had a wife and unborn child.

"I have no intention of allowing him access to you. I plan to go to him; to let him do with me as he will."

Jane gripped her hand. "Marie! You cannot mean that!"

She shook her head and smiled guiltily into her sister's confusion.

"I do not think he will plunder and rape…I think he wishes companionship. I think he is lonely. Had he wished abduction, he had ample time today and did not."

Jane stared at her, and became more agitated. "But you cannot mean this! Did you not hear all the stories, of the young maid with the heart torn out?!? You are like the innocent bride…" Her face registered further disbelief. "And you enjoy this! I can see it in the glow of your face! You are serious; you are as if it is your bridal day! Sister! He has bewitched you!"

"He has done nothing of the sort!" Though she was not completely sure of this; for had the dream not begun this tale for her, had it not brought joy to her inner core for aught? But this was too much to fathom, and instead she nodded at Jane. "He has…he…does he not plague the village? Are they not in fear of him? Perhaps if I deliver myself, he will leave them alone, and—."

George had stood. "And you will be the virgin sacrifice? Again, I cannot allow it; it is my honor as your kin and a man to protect you from this vile—."

"He is not vile!" she suddenly stormed, standing to her full height, quivering with an unexpected indignation. "He is…he is as a man…only…only hairier…and…and taller. Much taller." And she thought again of the gray stone armor of her dream, and realized she had not even looked at his clothing. And her mind thought to his profile in her dream, and her mind's eye traveled the length of his body, and Jane interrupted again with astonishment.

"You are blushing!"

Her hands went to her cheeks, and in embarrassment, she turned away and looked out into the darkening night. She knew he was outside, waiting and perhaps wondering. She knew he would not take her away by force, but perhaps it was only a matter of time before he came and requested her of the village. And when the villagers were put to the request, they would hold her, they would forbid her. And as his anger grew, eventually he would burst, and cause her a painful death, but only after torturing all she knew and loved. This she would not allow. She would go of her own accord.

"I must go to him. You understand? I cannot wait for him to fetch me, for he won't. And you know the village won't understand, they will drive him away, they will forbid me to go outside. All to protect me…when I do not need protection…"

George was still frozen, staring, uncomprehending. "You wish this? Truly? I do not understand why you wish for your doom, for your death."

"We do not know it is death!" she flung back, giddy in her newfound independence. "I do not know anything but what I say to you…only know that I must go – I will go!"

Jane was trying desperately to hold her gaze, and read her as only sisters do, and finally she shook her head. "It is in your nature to nurture, Marie. If you sense he is lonely, so lonely you cannot bear it, and if you are certain you are not afraid, I know enough not to dissuade you."

George blustered and tried to form a refusal, but Jane instead began to slowly point to the cupboard, saying, "If it is to be your bridal night, then you must have a little trousseau. Take the wedding linen, or at least the candlesticks."

She shook her head. "I do not think I must take this. Though I will go pack my things, and will press my satin silk, for it becomes my hair."

George sat, slumping, and giving up, mumbling as he ate the now-cold soup. "What will I tell the men? I am failed, I am no good to protect…"

She turned to him as she folded her dresses on the bed next to Jane, who began to pack the ribbons, tucking in a few scraps of her own.

"You must tell them the truth, and that I am a willful girl and ran out so early in the morning, for that is my plan. I want no interruptions. He will fetch me, I am certain. If you must, tell them I did it to protect them, the village, from their fear."

That night, she did not sleep.

It was not the fear of the dream returning, it was her blood, coursing with an unexpected joy, and anticipation…and a strange desire.

That next morning, the sun still did not shine, making the wee hours of the morning seem like late afternoon. The clouds were low, and a faint mist swirled among the outer trees of the forest. The darkness of the clouds brought a light rain, and she wondered how long her pink satin would remain crisp. With the linen bundle of her belongings under her arm, she did not wake George and Jane, knowing a good-bye would be mostly painful for all, and she slipped away back to the meadows.

This morning she struck out with anticipation, and longing for this next initial meeting to happen, so that the surprise was gone and she could move forward with certainty, with him. Wherever that may lead her.

It felt this morning as if she walked much longer, though she could still see the village behind her, where only a few early candles were lit in the windows. She paused in the middle of the hill, the long dark green grasses whipping at her skirts, and her hand went to her forehead as she felt her long tresses getting pulled out again from their perfect place.

As her heart beat faster and louder in her ears, she heard movement in the tall trees to her right, and for the first time ever, she felt the fear of the villagers. Perhaps it was not him; perhaps it was a simple wild animal, still out hunting. She felt vulnerable, and alone and weak, and from her throat she gave a short scream,

"Please! Where are you?"

In two instants, she felt him there, as if he had materialized, and again he was behind her, as if to soften her to prepare her for the looks of him. Did he expect her to think him horrible? And he seemed to understand why she was there and there was urgency in his manner as he asked;

"Why are you here again? Do you not know the meadow is dangerous?"

"Not so if you are here. Do you not know, Milord, that I have come to be taken?"

Still he hesitated. "Taken? By what—whom?"

"By you."

His breath sucked in, and it was a loud sound, and then before she understood more, his strong and burly arm was around her, and she was moving at a breathless speed, nearly tucked under his arm, as they moved out of the open and up, up into the trees, his cape behaving as if it were wings, and she dared not open her eyes for she feared the heights.

They seemed to travel miles, but in reality she knew they were not moving for a long time, for she felt the dew of the morning on her face yet when she was set down on her feet, and the hot arm of her host slid away from her.

As she slowly opened her eyes, the vertigo hit her, and she swayed unsteadily, and her clenched hand finally dropped her bag of belongings. They felt a short distance to her feet with a muffled thump.

His hand was at her waist again to steady her, and his black unreadable face was the first thing she saw fully, and she thought she understood surprise and joy when she did not shy from him, but instead nearly leaned into him. There was a part of her, perhaps still connected to the dream, that wished to feel the breadth of him, and lay her head against his heart.

As they stood there, she took in her surroundings slowly. From his face, she looked finally at his clothing. It was not made of stone as she had mused, but a thick, coarse, material, that looked as if it had been made from a mould of his body, for it fitted him as a tight glove. She did not look past his stomach in embarrassment, for she simply saw that he wore black silk pants and high boots. He was all grays and blacks and browns, and yet he was warm and smelled more deeply of the earth.

They stood on a rampart, high in the hills, looking down over miles of vast green woods without a chimney smoke in sight. It was isolated and quiet and the sound of leaves moving in the wind was all she heard, with the occasional bird and twitter.

"Where are we?"

He looked down at her, and still did not remove his arm.

"Home."

She paused at the word, then nodded. All at once, she remembered the utter fear she had felt in the meadow before he had come, and a shudder hit her. With her free hand, she gripped his, and felt the power in his paw, the soft velvet of his palm and the hard grooves of hidden claws.

"I had been afraid you wouldn't come…and then more than afraid…"

"Afraid of me?" His voice was a deep rumble.

She shook her head, still holding his hand, wondering why she wished he would draw her to him, to hold her. He did not, for he could not read her mind. And she sighed, trying to dispel the fear.

"Never. No. Not afraid of you, Milord. Afraid of…something. I know not what. Perhaps it is a silly girl's fear of the dark?"

And she turned to him, looking up at his face in self depreciation, but did not see humor in the long planes of his face.

"You are no silly girl, and I do not think you fear the dark, for then you would not have sought me out. No…you feel the fear of man that is rightfully felt on that meadow. It is against the…fear…that I battle."

She stared up at him, wondering. What did he battle? Did that make him a warrior king? A guardian? A guardian made of gargoyle stone, who protected her without question?

"Come. You will want to change from your damp dress."

She wanted to ask him if he liked its color on her, the pink against the dark auburn of her tresses, but felt as if it was a thing a hussy would ask, and she was nervous to flirt with him.

He took her through a dizzying amount of stairs and steps and pavilions. She stopped wondering, and followed him blindly, her hand still encapsulated by his, and she still marveled at the size of it.

Finally, they stopped at a door. It was inlaid with gold and rubies and pearls, and he pushed it open, where a rush of warm bath steam gushed out around them.

She stared at him, at the tall hairy shadow of him.

"Shall I dress for…for what? Dinner?" It was a leftover civility she remembered from her brief lessons in womanhood from her mother.

He gave a shrug. "It is still morning. Perhaps you'd take breakfast in the library."

"Will you join me?" she asked automatically.

He paused, and again she felt that he was incredulous, as if disbelieving her reaction to him, and to his presence.

"I will join you, if it is your wish." He gave a slight bow.

Her heart felt heavy as she relinquished her hand from his. Looking up at his dark face she smiled for the first time all day. "I would very much desire that. And—." He paused from turning away as she continued. "And will you be very far away from me now?"

His body went still. "Is that what you wish?"

She shook her head, almost exasperated. "No, of course not, Milord! I ask because I wish for exactly what I ask. Will you join me for breakfast – I wish it. Will you be very far? I hope not, for I wish your nearness. I mean exactly what I ask, there are no hidden meanings."

Turning swiftly to her, she felt her hands grasped by his large hands, and once again felt the bony claws hidden under the soft layers of short fur, and the strength in his soft leathery paws. His nearness was breathtaking to her as he leaned in.

"Then I am grateful to have you here with me. You are a rare jewel among women. To have you here at all is a miracle."

And with that he left her. She turned wordlessly to the room, and was filled with amazement at the glorious outlay of the lavishly decorated quarters. Three rooms of seating, with the first room filled with an enormous canopied bed. Plush pillows sat in window seats, and tapestries covered the walls. Two huge fireplaces crackled merrily, and in the far room she found a wood floor and walls covered in paintings, where a stone bath was full of sudsy water, a wet sheet drifting silkily along the edges of the tub.

She stripped, and wished there was at least some noise to distract her, for it was very quiet save for the fire. But she bathed in silence and enjoyed the feel of the heat over her limbs.

Once she finished, she stood, and discovered a small wardrobe in the corner open, which held a few simple day dresses. They had very little embroidery, but they were made of the finest velvets and satin. She donned one in the palest blue, with tiny green vines sewn into the sleeves and around the bodice, and went to the large heavy door.

Stepping into the gloomy corridor, she nearly moved instinctively back to the sunny and well-lit rooms.

"Milord?" she called, and the timid sound echoed through the hallway. Suddenly, lights blazed in the candlesticks, except for the far corner, where a door stood half open and it was gloomy behind that.

She walked tentatively, looking at the closed doors that were placed sporadically along the way. There was interchanging hardwood and carpet under her heels, so she clicked and padded at intervals.

As she got to the door, she put her hand on it, and called again,

"Milord? Is this the library?"

In answer, gigantic drapes were pulled apart, ripped as one, and the whole room, with cathedralesque ceilings was revealed. Book shelves that were towering and teetering surrounded her, but she was drawn to one wall, hearing the familiar crackle of fire, and thinking she smelled that distinctive earthy scent.

His back was to her in a large chair, and he looked less threatening when he sat. He straightened, and she felt him gathering to move up and stand, but hurriedly she went to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Do not worry to stand for me. I am no noblewoman who needs grand gestures."

His dark eyes did not move from her as she went and seated herself opposite of him, and began to tidily make them tea. There was an odd assortment of cutlery before her, and she looked up at him innocently.

"Do you prefer the china or shall I use the earthenware mug?" she jerked her head at the oversize object, thinking his large hands would prefer it.

He simply stared at her, and the silence was unnerving, so she busied herself, using the mug for him, and a large cup for herself. The chill was nearly gone from the morning.

Finally, they sat over their steaming mugs, and she absently popped a biscuit into her mouth, looking at him from the corner of her eye. From one angle he looked nearly human, but straight on, and in body, he was indeed a beast. She saw the deep lines etched into the sides of his nose, and the long gash that was his mouth; she did not think he was very young at all.

Her thoughts swirled in her mind, until she felt she would go mad with the silence, and then turned to him suddenly and asked in plainspeak:

"I had more to fear this morning on the meadow, did I not? You saved me – you are not what should be feared, yes?"

He heaved a big sigh, and sat his cup down. She noticed he had not once brought it to his lips. Perhaps his large teeth did not allow it.

She waited, worrying that she might have angered him, though he sat so comfortably next to her that she almost, just almost, forgot his size and his manners. She wasn't certain what had transpired that morning in the wide green meadow, but she'd be damned if she was going to wait weeks and weeks in the large castle wondering. If he could answer for her, she would like to know sooner than later.

Still he was silent, and she looked at her lap, disappointed. She wished he would reach out and touch her, but as she looked at him from the corner of her eye, she saw that he looked downcast, and worried.

Impulsively, she went to kneel at his knee, and he looked her again with surprise, and tentative response. There was a new softness and disbelieve around his eyes. But here, in his home, he did not seem to be so titillating or warm or visceral, as he had been in the meadow. She somehow missed that quality about him; he had been alive then.

He sighed again, and made a fruitless effort to lift her up.

"I would prefer a response. As a girl…a…human girl at that, we are best adapted when we know what we face."

Finally, his great shaggy head moved in the negative. "It is something I cannot tell you. It is…it is to do with magic. And the rules of magic, as they are in so many places, do not allow one to speak of the spells or the…curses."

She frowned, and finally stood of her own accord, though he continued to sit. Walking away, she moved to the nearby window. It was lined with a deeply cushioned seat, but she gazed instead over the meadows and trees below. She hadn't realized how far up the castle they were. It must be enormous. The sun seemed to shine in some parts, but in general the air was gloomy and cloudy around them.

Giving her head a brief shake, as if to wake, she turned abruptly and asked,

"Perhaps…if I guess at the curse…even in a roundabout way…I could know what is to be expected of me? For there must be some expectations, and I must owe some debt…"

He did not move, and again he seemed to be as stone here in this place. She assumed that his lack of refusal meant that she had the stage, and so she began to pace, feeling enlightened.

"For certainly, I do not have to fear you. For near you, I feel you are not vile nor dangerous. You would not have killed the girl in the village, and ripped her to shreds. I cannot feel that it is your nature. Is this true?"

She turned swiftly to face him, standing in front of the fireplace. He did not look at her and sat still without moving so that she felt as if she was waiting for a short eternity. Finally, as slow as time, he gave a very grave nod, and his eyes met hers directly. Now they were chocolate instead of grey, and were filled with a bit of life. She was encouraged.

Continuing her pace, she thought back to all the snippets and stories she had heard in the village, but they all lead to the conclusion that it was he – her Beast – who had done such terrible things. But now he had affirmed the opposite, and she was inclined to believe him, this otherworldly man-creature, than the shallow gossips of —shire.

Her thoughts formed slowly but as she thought further and further back to her memories of childhood faerie tales and long forgotten wisps of secret chants.

"So…you must be the guardian of that village…or…er…this valley?" She didn't stop to look at him with every question, and instead rambled on out loud, formulating a theory, while he was an unmovable mountain in her sideways vision. Comforting, and yet an enigma at once.

"Perhaps…perhaps there are other sources…other beings…something malignant, that exacts a price? No, that cannot be, for then what would you be? You battle them, yes, but it is passive, there is magic. Ah, but I am unlearned in this, I cannot hope to theorize on the magic."

She felt the warmth of the fire on her skirts, and rubbed her hands on her arms. It was still chilly from the morning; she felt it in her bones.

"I am still cold. Then it must be something magic, for it is high summer. Something cold was coming for me…perhaps I was a marked woman…a marked virgin…a sacrifice? Perhaps, but for what? And you…you saved me from an untimely demise from this…these evils? For what purpose?"

Finally he stirred, and stood. She stood her ground, her dream and the morning having given her time to adjust to his stature, and she gazed at him, hopeful.

"Did I hit upon it then?"

"Not quite," he said, and though he spoke softly, his voice was a deep rumble. "But you have hit upon the fact that I myself have brought you here for a purpose."

Her hand found her throat, and her heart fluttered. The powerful urgings she felt from her dream came at her full force as she inhaled his scent. Tangy, woodsy and powerful; it was a sensual smell to her – heady and nearly sexual.

"Then you can answer—?"

"No," he shook his head. "I am afraid that I cannot answer all your questions, but that I must ask you one. It is one I am…required to ask."

Her eyes stayed with his, questioning and waiting. There was no fear.

"Miss…" Here he stopped and gave a grimace that seemed to be a rueful half-smile if she tilted her head and focused on his whole face.

"I am afraid that with the unusual…circumstances of the morning…I have not properly introduced myself nor learned your name. You may call me Beast, for that is what I am."

"My name is Maria," she responded. "Though you may call me what you like."

"Maria, Mary, Marie…" he said, and there was a lilt in his voice as he said it, and concluded, most unexpectedly, "I ask that you marry me."

She stared at him, unbelieving, half shocked and then half excited. But then she realized that of course he did not love her, nor did he ask this from his own desires, but that it must be part of the magic and the curse.

"Ask? Or demand?" she whispered, still looking at him, holding his eyes.

"Ask only. I will not ever demand anything of you," he swore solemnly.

"Then…I ask that you give me time to think on this," she said slowly. "I have only just arrived, and would like to ponder logically on it."

There was utter silence in the library as she said this, as he again looked at her with incredulous amazement.

"Then you do not immediately refuse me?"

She shrugged. "There is…there is something about you that I cannot ignore. I cannot refuse you for I…I rather desire your nearness. Perhaps if we spoke more? May we walk in your garden?"

As he continued to stare in utter confusion, she moved up and slipped her arm through his again and looked up expectantly.

His mighty chest inhaled deeply, and then they were moving, almost floating out, and once again she lost count of the hallways and stairs, until she found herself under the sky of grey and pale blue, and laid out before them was a manicured garden of epic proportions.

Her hand was tucked inside the edge of his sleeve, and she found herself moving close to him against the chill of the random gust of wind.

"We must be very high in the mountain foothills, for I still can see quite far," she said first, trying to break into the quiet stroll.

He agreed with her. "We are indeed. I can see all the way to the sea on a sunny day."

"Oh – I should love to see the sea!" and then said in an effort to remain nonchalant, for her mind was reeling with possibilities and thoughts since his surprise proposal. "My sister Jane should be having her baby soon, you know, and I have heard a trip to the sea after childbirth is very lovely."

He nodded, and said, "I remember hearing of the sort."

"I should wonder…" her lips shut and she looked down. He stopped short at her sudden silence, and gave a barked laugh.

"My maiden Marie! What thought did you just halt, that you are blushing like an innocent?" And he took his free hand and brought her face up to his. There was a softening in his eyes then, and he nearly whispered, "And how pretty you are when you blush!"

She gave a shy smile, feeling like a girl a'courting, and told him as much.

He shook his head. "I would not have thought of it that way, but yes, perhaps that is what it is."

They spoke of mundane things all day, and past lunch, and then moved inside as rain threatened.

Dinner was served in a cozy nook of the library, and the fire was banked higher than she was used to, but she was happy to be comfortable enough that she could lean over and rest her back on the Beast's broad shoulders as they reclined on the window seat.

His scent was overpowering that near, and she wondered at what kind of life she'd have should she marry him, and blushed again at the thought she was going to ask of him earlier.

She wondered at the whistle of the wind outside, and thought then briefly of her family. As she did, she felt him shudder beneath her.

"What is it?" she turned around from his shoulder to search for his face in the gloom of the library at night.

"I am surprised you are here, shocked you sit so near me, and are not afraid. Once—long ago, I had thought I would be so lucky, but—."

He stumbled to a stop, the revealing sentence nearly seemed to choke him.

She played with the lace cuff of her dress, and then stroked the velvet of his. She marveled how the softness of the cloth was like his palm, and slowly, she drew the limp paw to her lap, turned it over, and ran her fingers along the broad span of it.

His whole being was still, and his soft sigh was stuttered.

"Did you love her?"

The question was soft, but she sensed a shift in him, and didn't dare look into his face for the first time all day.

Once again, the silence stretched long. She began to consider the fact that he would not answer this question either, but suddenly he spoke, his voice deeper, accented with an emotion she couldn't place.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not. It was long ago."

Now it was her turn to shudder, and all the thousands of possibilities she had entertained throughout the day cam crashing around her. "How old are you!?" Remembering how the ancient tale of the village seemed to have seeped into the land, she feared his answer.

"I do not know. I do not care to remember," he dismissed, then continued hesitantly and candidly. "I am sure by human standards, I'm quite…elderly."

"But you don't look it!" she protested; the disbelief burst out of her.

A deep rumble she understood to be his chuckled laugh made her body vibrate. "I do not think my…body ages quite the same way yours does, Maria."

She liked the sound of her name in his timbre, and for a second or two it distracted her from remembering the thread of their conversation. Idly, he continued to pick at it.

"I think…it works out to one year in your fifty…but it's not absolute math," he apologized. "Regardless, it is what it is; I cannot change it."

"But you can change your luck?" she swung the topic back to the beginning. "You had once thought to be lucky, to have a woman in your arms…" She trailed off as an unexpected stab of jealousy caught her.

It was surprising when his broad and burly arm stretched itself around her waist, hugging her closer, and she felt comforted, as if he needed her, desired her closeness to keep her from disappearing the way other girl…from the other story…had done.

"I had once hoped, yes…but this…I have never expected…hoped…"

Her fingers found the fabric of his overcoat, and the fine soft burr of fur on the backs of his hands. Shyly, she glanced up at his vivid gaze. "Then…you have never had a woman?"

"In this castle? No. Not for…eons. And before then, it was…not like this." The magic that held his tongue seemed to trap him in riddles, and she was glad she asked many questions.

"Then…you did not love her?"

His glance sharpened, but not with anger. "Are you jealous?"

She looked away, stunned at his acuteness. Anxious at being caught, she fumbled for a change of topic but the only one bubbling up she could not voice.

Finally she managed, "I…I am glad I am able to…be here. With you."

There was a sigh like the wind from him. "I find it so difficult to believe. I worry when I wake tomorrow it will have all been a dream."

She gave a small smile. Then, incredulously, she found herself saying, "Then do not leave me tonight. If you should wake in the evening, I will be there, solidly, beside you."

He jerked away from her. "I cannot harm your reputation, not even for my own peace of mind!"

She laughed, a silvery sound compared to his gruffness. "What reputation? There are none here but us!"

She could feel him acquiesce, but knew he would not go without further convincing. "Besides, I am sure you are a gentleman. I know you did not harm the other girl from the village lore, and I know you to be the most solid thing here…" she glance around "here where I am uncertain of the magic in the walls and the air. Please…"

"I can deny you nothing," he gave in slowly. "But as you say, I am the gentleman. I will wait until you call me tonight."

She was dismissed to ready herself for bed. Glad to know she would not be alone in the enormous quarters for long, she did not mind the quietness of her chambers, or the way that items seemed to appear and disappear from the corner of her eye.

Once she was tucked in the mounds of covers, she called out, sensing him waiting behind the door, "Please, Beast, I am going to sleep; please join me for I am afraid to be alone."

The door opened easy, but she felt him hesitate at the threshold, unnerved and worried she would shirk at the sight of him again, this she understood minutely.

As he appeared slowly from around the corner, she held out her hand, then patted the wide expanse of bed left for him. She didn't want him to feel crowded. Awkwardly, he climbed up, and laid, fully clothed, over the covers.

The candles went out slowly, and by the time darkness had filled the room, she could see shadow and light from the moon peeking through the windows. They were quiet together for a long time, but she could hear by his breathing that he lay awake.

"I assure you, this is no dream," she turned to him, "I will be here when you wake."

He still did not seem convinced, and under the cover of darkness, she was finally bold enough to ask; "I must know…for these things must make sense to me…if I were to say yes, to marry you as you asked…"

His movement was fast, and she felt her hand being pressed by his gigantic paw. There was still no voiced response, but she felt suddenly as if the entire castle were listening, wondering…hoping?

Her cheeks still were blushed as she blurted, "I do not know how children would work, milord. It is brazen of me to ask, but I do not see what kind of offspring we should create. That is my one great question, and I could not dare to ask it in daylight."

There was an incredulous pause, and then a rueful chuckle from him. "Now I know my mind does not imagine you, for I could not have created a figment of imagination to ask such questions!"

He sighed, and with his sigh she felt a shift in his voice, as if a ban had been lifted.

"I can tell you that our children would be human."

"Well, that is something then."

And with that, she brought his huge hand to her lips, and felt herself drop into a dreamless sleep.

Awaking was a surprise, for first she was greeted with the smell of musk and pine. It was nearly overwhelming, and she wondered at it until she realized that she had slept with her face pressed to his shoulder, and he had not moved all night.

Moving her eyes up the pane of his waistcoat, she saw with delight that his eyes were closed. They opened abruptly after she had been looking at him for only a short while, and she asked quietly,

"Did you sleep at all?"

His lack of answer confirmed in the negative, and she realized that his inability to sleep must be part of the magic…or the curse…that held him in the state he existed.

Today, she thought with conviction, I must discover why he is afraid to sleep; why he is afraid to leave me, and why he wished to take me away from the village, for somehow they are all interconnected questions.

Boldly, she put her hands on the irregular, but angular cheek above her. "I will be sure you sleep tonight."

He gave a guffaw, which sounded heavy with slumber, and then they went down to breakfast, where they ate in companionable silence; her in her dressing gown and him in rumpled finery.

The day was grey and windy again, but she was happy to put on what had been laid out for her on the bed. It was a lovely pale blue raw silk, and finer than anything she had ever owned, even in the city port. She felt like a noblewoman, and said as much to him.

"Good. For here you are such," he stated, and offered her an arm as they strolled through yet another unexplored garden.

"I…I do not know about the color though," she murmured. "I did so like pink. People have always said it is the most striking on me…"

He turned her toward him. "Is that why you wore such a color on the day you called for me? Were you…dressing for me?" He was incredulous again; she found she could baffle him often with her honesty.

"I was," she confessed, blushing slightly. "I had…hoped you would notice it, and think well of me."

"You hoped I thought you pretty?" he inquired, and she nodded slightly, looking at her shoes. Her shyness overcame her at the oddest of moments. He was quiet, and then mentioned in an offhanded way, "That was very unnecessary."

She stiffened – his comment dug deep, and she hoped he did not notice her offence. Thankfully, he did not say a thing as they continued to meander along. Pointing out several unusual flowers brought his attention away, and she hoped it was forgotten, for she could not voice her own thoughts quite yet.

But the companionship was ruined between him, and he seemed to grow more bewildered by the hour, until they sat at tea again. She marveled; was today only her second day at the castle?

"You are unwell?"

She did not dare look at him as he asked this question, and reminded herself again that perhaps this curse, the magic, hindered his words.

Shaking her head, she stared at the polished tabletop. Realizing it was up to her to speak, to discover, she began to ask, "You do not sleep, afraid I will be stolen away?"

She felt more than saw him shake his head. "No, nothing of that harm can come to you now that you are here in these walls."

"But…if I left the castle…harm would come to me? My heart…it would be ripped away like the girl from the village…the one of the story…so long ago?"

"Yes."

"But milord Beast…why should I wish to leave?" Finally she looked at him, beseeching him to understand. "I do not wish to return to the village, nor to be far from you. You must know this. I will…I will be hurt if you cannot believe me, that you will not sleep for fear of this."

He gave a bark of a laugh, and she caught him say then softly, "Why would you not go?"

"Because…I dreamed of you. I yearned for you. And now that I am here…I feel I have bound myself to you, somehow. I cannot leave; I don't want to…" She faltered, but her eyes did not leave his. He looked apprehensive and worried, and his hand moved slowly to cover hers.

"But I ask again Marie…are you unwell? For in the garden, I felt you withdraw from me."

She sighed, and stood, her hand sliding away from his warm masculinity. Her back to him, and head down, she resigned herself to disclosure.

"You asked me to marry you."

"I did. I ask again…will you marry me?"

"But do you love me?"

When there was no answer, she couldn't resist a turn around to see him, and he sat as if stricken, unable to answer.

Going to kneel by him, she saw his eyes follow her, but he still seemed frozen, inert.

"For I cannot marry one who does not love me. And why do you ask me? Does it not matter who I am? That I dreamed and yearned for you? You say it was unnecessary to dress prettily for you on the yonder meadow. Do you not care if I worry of my dress for you, or if I am even of soft face and limbs as long as you can carry me away, seduce me to marry you whether you love me or not? How can I say I shall marry you with such questions in my mind?"

His voice answered as if dragged from far way. "At least…least you ask the questions."

Waiting, she felt her knees begin to ache, but felt he had more to say. Finally, he said slowly.

"I did not mean…that it was unnecessary to wear pink…to try to please me. I knew you from the start, sensed you as you sensed me. And you were…very beautiful, Marie. If you had worn brown and sackcloth, I would have thought so. I did not mean to pain you; I am sorry to have caused you disappointment, I—."

She brought a hand to his lips, savoring the softness of them, of the clean long cut of his mouth before lowering her fingers.

"All is forgiven there, then. I thank you for explaining it. But I must ask you for your love, as I crave it from you; I could not expect less of my union."

He shook his head sadly, dumb again, and her frustration boiled over. Standing as quickly as she could, she twitched her skirts.

"Then it cannot be; at least not today or the next day. You must love me before I shall marry you."

She moved away from him, and by crossing the room, was the furthest she'd been away from him, physically since she had arrived to the castle. Reaching the doorpost, a terrible pain shot through her ribs, and she barely heard him say, "Marie!"

Awakening in the softness of bedclothes, her hand moved blindly until she found the velvet surcoat. The pain in her chest had disappeared when she had fainted at the door, and she wondered at it, and what had caused it. Had she cleaved so much to him, so quickly? And then…if it was one year to fifty human ones…were the two days really two?

She must have fainted away for hours; here she was now again in the bedroom, but through the curtains she could see the pale warm light of a soft sunset; though heavy clouds still circled, enough sunlight came through so it was a dramatic and lovely evening view.

At her stirring, he moved, and she looked up at him, and placed a hand on his chest. "Look," she was privately delighted. "Look at how beautiful the sunset is!"

She moved away slowly, carefully, almost fearful of being too far from him physically. But he looked at her calmly, and so she moved off the bedclothes and to the window, parting the gossamer curtains so the golden light filtered in past her, and onto the bed, where he waited and watched her.

Turning to look at him, she saw for the first time his coloring in sunlight. She saw that his garment was not the steely grey she had assumed, and that it had flecks of purple and blue and rose buried in the cloth, and that his fur had a tinge of gold.

And his eyes were gentle in the light, and looked at her with hope and comfort, and once again she resolved to find the answers.

"Well, milord? Is it not beautiful?"

He gave his low chuckle, and said with great affection, "It is so, but not so lovely as you. Nothing can compare to you, my Maria."

She waited, hopeful he would speak his heart, but his silence resigned her, and she let the curtain fall back and climbed back next to him. Falling comfortingly to his side, she let his great arm circle her so she snuggled close to him.

"Shall we call in dinner here, Beast?" she asked. "I should like to make a nice tea, and we should share a wine and start a fire when it chills later. If there can be found books, I should read you poetry."

Shaking his head with what she took as delight and slight confusion, he agreed. "It shall be as you desire, as always."

So the evening pasted in quiet joy and camaraderie. They did not read much poetry, but instead fell to speaking of the future as if it was a certain thing, and so went the third day, and that night, she woke, wondering what was different until she realized he was breathing different, deeper. And she smiled, drifting back off, knowing that finally he slept too.

Thus the days and evenings went, though there were not many similarities to each day, they were each of them contented and comforting. And she was careful not to ever allow much distance betwixt them, for the pain she had felt in leaving him once was too much, and she did not want to repeat it.

"What were you like before this?" she swept her hand over the landscape. It was a rare fine day, and they stood on the battlements. The wind was strong and whipped her dark hair from the pins, and caused the crisp raw silk of her gown to crease and undulate around the dark stone.

"Before the view?" he made light of her question, as always when it was impossible to answer. "The view was here long before me, Marie; I am not so old as that!"

The jest made her smile up at him, where he stood apart, hands clasped behind his back, and the wind ruffled the heavy fur at his neck and down his back.

Still, this day she was full of questions. "You know I am more serious than that, Beast. Were you ruler? Commander? King of this land?"

His sigh was lost in the wind, but she still heard it, attuned to him most acutely. "Much of that question, I cannot answer."

"I am tired of not getting answers," ire rose up in her chest more quickly than she expected. Perhaps it was the long days together, she thought she would be able to finally start to understand his place, and her place, in the castle.

"You must continue to get used to it, sweet, for you know I am choked by the magic." It was the first time he called her the endearment, and she felt hope of her own rise up, replacing the anger.

She pressed further, half turned to face him, where he still stood, great and silent. "I find it difficult, as a human girl, to continue to do this! How can I find answers? Most of my questions are met with silence!! It is unfair!"

"It is the rules," he tried to placate her, unused to seeing her upset.

"The rules are ridiculous," but as she said it, the wind gusted up, and her hair was released completely from the pins, and they scattered around the stone of the battlement. Shaking her head impatiently, she continued to stare at him, as if willing him to continue to placate her.

"All of it is ridiculous. I do not understand any of it," the rant grew in her without reprieve, and the wildness of the outdoors gave her just the release she needed. "I do not like how the magic tugs at my eyes, how I feel afraid to be without you, how dependent I am on you – I like it, I adore the attachment I have found in you, but I would like to understand it. Is it magic alone that binds me to you? Can you answer that?"

He looked at her stoically, unsure if her question is rhetorical. As his silence continued, she shook her dress briskly, angrily.

"Of course you cannot answer. You only ever ask one thing of me, something that I doubt you do of your own will. And does my part matter? My dreams of you, my desire for you?" She looked him in the eye. "I do not know, it probably doesn't matter at all. You wish for me to marry you, but you shan't say you love me. And as for me? Do you even think to ask if I love you in return?" She threw up her hands in defeat, and looked back over the land. "Of course you do not, what man does?"

She glanced over her shoulder, and he stared at her, his eyes wide, choked, and she realized that he wanted to ask her that very thing. She gave a slight laugh, and decided to give in halfway. "But of course I do love you, you know." With a shrug, she looks away, only just to hear a loud bang, as if lighting came out of the sunny sky and hit the stones of the castle.

Whirling around, she fell back against the stones, the roughness scratched her palms as she pressed back away from the spectre before her.

He was not her Beast, her beloved, and his hair was dark and red with grey at the temples. His clothing was brown and green and white, the color of the fields and forest, and his eyes were dark and warm.

"My sweet Marie," he said, and she felt weak, and her eyes started to weep tears of fear and loneliness, for certainly her Beast was gone, and this new man would not be the same, nor would he want her.

"My Beast?" she asked. "Where is he? I do not understand this magic – please!"

In a few strides he was beside her, and took her hands in his. "It is me, my darling, my love. For indeed I do love you – it's just the rules of the magic decreed that it must be you to say it first."

"But—."

"Hush; I do not think this will last long, let me speak freely, quickly – I fear I will have a brief reprieve of the curse that held my tongue, a rest from my state as a Beast, brought about by your love, your declaration. I am so happy that you love me, that you return my love, for surely I have loved you since I saw you in my dreams, since you came to me in the field—."

"Let me speak, and quickly too!" she stopped him, putting her hands on his mouth in the familiar gesture. "You say that you love me?"

"More than life itself," he vowed, speaking through her fingers, his eyes on hers.

Dropping her hands, she said easily, happily, "Then it is no matter, for then I will gladly marry you, if the offer still stands."

There was another bold of lightning, and she felt her eyes close at the brightness, at the heat and the sound. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the man that was her Beast still standing before her, but now he was robed in the finery of a king, and on his forehead a bright diadem of jewels.

A sound from below roused her further, and she tore her gaze from his to look below. There in the courtyard were hundreds of soldiers, of castle folk, milling about, doing their chores as if they had been doing so for hundreds of years without break.

Her mouth hung open, and she remembered to shut it only in time for him to grasp her about the waist and kiss her soundly.

When they parted, and his face was so close to hers that she could still smell their kiss, he smiled and sighed. "I have wanted to do that since I first met you."

She smiled back with some incredulousness still in her eyes. "I would like to understand now, then, if I may?"

He gave a great booming laugh, and tucked her hand in his velvet arm. "Of course you will now know all, Marie. Though, I am afraid if you don't like the story, you must still marry me."

Her eyes met his in surprise at his demand. "Is it so awful a tale, then?"

"Perhaps, or perhaps not," he said. "But you have promised to wed me, and the joy and excitement of that has made me stubborn. You cannot leave me now."

She laughed up at him. "If you are truly still my Beast, then I will have no desire to do so."

They began their slow promenade around the castle walls, and he began to explain how the curse was devised of the evilness of humanity, of human wills and minds, and how such wills when joined can gather strength; to create legend when there is none, and in that empty legend enters wickedness that only comes to such voids.

"It is not for me to say who ripped out the poor girl's heart from the story; know assuredly it was not I," he said strongly, sorrowfully for the old pain. "Why should I have ruined my chance at reprieve, of salvation from the curse? It was a cruel tease to give me hope that I had caught the attention of a maiden so quickly, to have a chance I could lift the curse easily."

"You must have had to send dreams? How would she know of you? How could you have brought her to you, to save you?" she asked, interjecting.

"I sent nothing, only waited and hoped. Not just anyone can sense me the way you did, the way she did. It is something in the heart, in the mind. And it is yet another step of bravery to not cleave to the people of the village and their ways and thoughts; she did and it brought her doom."

"Doom?"

"The darkness of wickedness, the other side of human nature, when given voice and a story can grow in shape and texture, so that it is something to fear. It was coming for you in the meadow before I arrived to save you; it is the evil lies of men that contrive to trap, to kill any maiden that can come to save me from the curse of wickedness."

"I still do not understand what power could trap you, what could curse you."

He looked away from her for the first time, ashamed, and it was only pressure from her hand that made him remember to continue with the story and her final explanations.

"It is the power of words, of belief. As you see me now, I was not always such a Beast. Once I was a man who was proud, boastful, and ruled with terror and cruel judgment. As my cruelty became legend, ancient years ago, I became what I was inside. A Beast, a non-human. Something hideous. At first, I sought to blame others, to cast myself as innocent, a victim, a slave to a curse. But over the eons, I had to come to see that it was myself that brought this curse upon me."

"But you did not call out to the wickedness of men to bind you, to keep you from finding one to love you again, to remove the shell of horror from you," she reminded.

"No," he shook his head. "That was the one thing not of my doing, though perhaps in a roundabout way, it was. The fear and ignorance of the common man continued to develop the finer points, that would thwart any maiden who could rescue me. Until you. You have saved me, and this I will never forget."

With this vow, he fell to his knees on the hard stone, the fine cloth of his garments swishing around him, and his bright eyes looking up at her with love and joy.

"And I will never forget that you loved me – that you loved me from the first. That it was destiny that brought us together, more than anything, for that is the easiest answer in the end," she mused, and reached to touch his face, marveling at the smoothness of his skin instead of the coarse fur she remembered.

She watched delightedly as he took her hand tenderly and kissed it, and declared himself her liege and love. She reminded him that he must add husband to that list, and he laughed again and agreed.

And then before Marie went down into the castle with her lord, she stopped and looked out across the land, where the great meadow was a sliver of emerald on the horizon, and the small thin wisps of smoke which were of her sister's home fire. Quavering on the edge of vision, she saw the slip of meadow disappear in a flash of sunlight, and all that was left were the slight curls of smoke from the village, where it stood at the edge of a forest, as if it had always done so, as if the stories had always said so.


End file.
